Aprés toi, le dèluge
by LaraFinja
Summary: She is supposed to be the forgotten sibling and now that her mother has left, she is also the forgotten daughter. Enola, alone spelled backwards, the name her mother has given her suddenly feels like a cruel prophecy. Enola embarks on a journey to find Eudoria, with her brothers always breathing down her neck. And being the little sister of the Holmes brothers comes with a price.
1. Aprés moi, le dèluge

Special thanks to itsabeautifulmidnight (at tumblr) for checking this out and encouraging me to continue!

**In the reviews I was made aware of the fact that I might seem pretentious regarding the title of the story, so for those of you who start reading from where you have left of, a short explanation: Aprés moi, le dèluge is a french expression that allegorically means 'After me, the flood', which is supposed to mean 'When I'm gone the disaster that may follow does not concern me'. It's attributed to Louis XV or Madame de Pompadour, apparently Louis said it shortly before his death and after his death the French revolution took place, killing both his grandson and successor. You see where I'm going with this? I took the phrase (the pretty french words ;))from the Regina Spektor song 'Aprés moi', so check that out! Thank you for your support and suggestions!**

Après moi, le déluge

The house, better yet the mansion, lay in absolute silence. Crickets chirped, a side effect off the summer heat and only one window was open, the shutters were against the grey lime walls.

A light breeze let the oak leaves around the house sway.  
No one was awake except for the girl in the room, with the open window, she lay in bed, awaiting the neon green clocks letters pass midnight so that she would age another year.

She sighed with desperation, Enola Holmes did not care for her age, except for the rare moments when she remembered what the doctors had said about ageing and the change that would come with it, the health improvement that would come with it.

Osteogenesis Imperfecta Type I has plagued her all her life. Her glass bones were not much of a sickness but more of a handicap.

She was not ageing but ripening like wine, her father would say, Like cheese, the housekeeper - Mrs. Lane say. Like a tree, Sherlock would say, explaining it to her in the simplest way he knows how.

Trees are planted with thin branches and frail leaves, but they grow and become stronger and stronger with the help of photosynthesis, he would dive into chloroplasts and assimilation which used to be far too complicated for her six year old brain .

If I am tree, I am an Oak, she would tell him, because she doesn't want to be Parmigiano or Bordeaux, Enola wants to be tall and strong and old.

He would ruffle her hair, an awkward try at affection but Enola likes it anyway. In the end she is not a metaphor but Enola, the girl of glass.

Sixteen years now, sixteen years of living with this, keep pestering her mind. She stares at the ceiling, where the reflection of the moon mirrored by the lake dances on it.

It's eerily calming and for a moment Enola breathes in and out waiting for the time to pass, feeling more and more sleepy.

That is until the door beneath Enola, a story lower, is opened.

Its distinctive noise makes her jump, heavily breathing she listens to careful footsteps that crush pebbles on the driveway.

Mindful of the noises she could possibly make, Enola creeps forward until the driveway is in plain sight.

She recoils when she realizes it's her mother Lady Eudoria, who is moving cautiously anxious to draw no attention to her person and not a burglar as Enola had expected.

Enola leans forward until her mother could see her if she would look back. She waits and waits, waits for her mother to turn around, as much as she was waiting for the clock to strike twelve just mere seconds ago.

Eudoria, tall dark haired, grey eyed Eudoria does not turn around. She carries a handbag, small but Enola knows that with the money the family has on its bank-account nobody would carry much with them.

Just before Eudoria rounds the bend, Enola realises that her mother won't turn around. It's a surprisingly lacklustre feeling. The certainty that her own mother will disappear without ever looking back gnaws at her, makes her dizzy, leaves her caught in a stream of conscious questions.  
And all of them become an ineloquent no flourish, plain why.

Why would she leave in the middle of the night?

Why now?

Why not take Enola with her?

As much as Enola thinks - and she can hear Sherlocks voice telling her that she isn't thinking hard enough- nothing comes of it, Eudoria is gone and the shutting of a car door finalises it further.

Enola watches the red taillights disappear on the horizon and finally fully abscond behind the hill, towards Chichester.

On a whim, as if the vanishing taillights jolted her awake, she stumbles backwards haziness unfolds within her and she tumbles down the hallway, down the stairs onto the porch.

Because maybe, she's been dreaming all along, maybe her mind was just playing tricks on her, all these thoughts and doubts dissolve into nothingness when she sees the footprints on the driveway.

A warm gust of air makes reality, reality and Enola drifts back into the house. Her mind is not clear when she slowly walks up the stairs, there is a thin greyish veil over her vision, which lets everything appear dreamlike.

Enola certainly knows that whatever she does now cannot be called a conscious decision, but nonetheless does she retrieve an old ruck sack from the cupboard near the landing. She goes to her room and begins to pack everything in near sight.

In the back of her mind she knows that it certainly would have been wiser just to wait it out for a while, wait for her Mother to return and when all fails to text Mycroft.

Now Mycroft would surely be very displeased with her decision, he would be overbearing and decidedly brass with her.

Another reason to just mindlessly pack her things and then disappear out of the door.

The bag is heavy on her back and cuts into her shoulders but she treads down the stairs and to the garage anyway.

The garage where the old man's bicycle, has been corroding for years now, ever since Sherrinford had moved out.

It made an extremely unsafe impression, but Enola mounts it anyway, it was still dark outside and for a moment she thinks about turning the dynamo on but the place where it's supposed to be displays nothing.

Great, she thinks and begins to pedal. Down the driveway, the same way her mother had taken just an hour before.

For a while she just follows the tyre tracks her mothers car had made. Eventually the tracks faded in the sand and Enola began following earth roads.

The roads were unsteady and Enola had to grip the handlebar tightly to cross the pebbles and stones to prevent slipping and possibly breaking a bone.

The stupidity of her decision dawned more and more on her and the more she realized that she actually didn't have a clue as to how to find her mother, the more frustrated she becomes.

Especially because Eudoria had the advantage of a car, and the rusty bicycle did not help her move forward in anyway.

With much more force than before she pedaled onwards, tree after tree passed her. And bump after bump made her more determined, she would follow Eudoria up to Chichester and even further if that was possible.

If she was right, her mother was on her way to Heathrow airport, so London it was. She calculated that her trip with the bicycle would at least last for two and half an hour, mostly because her bicycle experience was not up to par.

Then she would take the train at 5:15 a.m to Kings Cross.

Chichester station was deserted, two of the ticket machines were out of order. She acquired a ticket at the last working one and paid almost forty pounds. Another thing she should've thought of, taking more money with her.

She could practically hear her own brothers in head saying how distracted she always was and that she should use her head more often.

But that was something she should deal with when Mycroft was actually there to be cross with her. She sat on the platform playing with her telephone.

One message alert was displaying on her screen.

Sherlock.

Panic struck her for a moment, she knew her brother was good at knowing what people would do next but that good?

Tentatively she opened it, to her relief it read happy birthday. Her throat tightened and a strangled half laugh, half choke escaped.

She was caught up in laughing and crying at the same time on the train station. Tears mercilessly ran down her cheeks and she was suddenly glad that the station was deserted.

She knew if she worked herself up any further she would be nearing hyperventilation. Embarrassed she buried her face in the crook of her arm, shielding her face from cameras Mycroft could later access.

Outside it was dawning and the train was most certainly on its way.

The train arrived early and Enola boarded it without hesitation, if she could not find her mother she had at least tried, which should count just as much.

The train too was empty and Enola quickly found a window seat, the bag was heavy and it was more than relieving to finally get rid of it.  
The train ride was quiet and the train guard never appeared once for the whole journey.

Enola played with her phone for most of the two hours. Debating whether or not to text her brothers. and whom to text first, who to go to when she arrived in London.

After changing the train for the second time she decides to compose a quick text message, half an hour before she would reach her destination she tries more than one version but 'Mum is gone - EH', was the one she went for, her fingers hover over the send button for a few seconds before she sends the multimessage.

Then she begins typing a second message, for Sherlock.

'Will be at Kings Cross in twenty six - EH' is all it says, with her brothers she never has to elaborate, they understand the missing part of the message anyway.

Sherlock doesn't disappoint, he replies almost instantaneously with a quick and simple 'Yes - SH'.

Both Sherrinford and Mycroft take longer, but she knows although Mycroft doesn't reply immediately he is already checking passenger lists at various airports.

Eudorias passport is flagged and therefore Mycroft would've gotten a notification the instant Eudoria would book her flight.

She would have to use an alias to avoid sending Mycroft an red flag, Enola knows that Eudoria has other passports she could use whenever it strikes her fancy, so she doesn't put much trust in Mycrofts tactics.

The last fifteen minutes of the journey strain her patience considerably, a nervous itch works its way up her spine and into her hands and she can feel her blood pump faster, there's no telling if its from the excitement of the morning or if its the plain feeling of embarrassment.

She knows in a sense there is no need to be excited or upset over what happened. At first the journey she started had been a childish wish for her mother and in a second instance it was simply the need to do whatever pleases her in the long run.

The train comes to a halt, the platform is busy and people aggressivly shove and prod ways with their suitcases, Enola stumbles around for a while letting the crowd lead her.

She knows that if Sherlock has made to the platform in time he will find her, it has no use to look for him. She quickens her pace and moves up the escalator, the noise follows her and she feels a little lost but the signs lead the way to the main entrance.

For a few seconds she wanders around aimlessly, until a hand propels her to a stop. She had somewhat expected to meet Sherlock that way but she is startled anyway.

It must've looked as ridiculous as she felt because Sherlock smirked just a little, almost barely noticeable.

"Enola," He says with a nod, his hand clamped over her shoulder and then he guides her outdoors.

There is a cab waiting for them and she lets him walk her to it. She hasn't seen him in some time but she does see a change in his behaviour, she immediately notices that his mannerism has changed from flacy to much more considerate movements.

Enola knew all along that Sherlock had been a user for a while, cocain had made him irritable and most unfit to converse with his sister.

She knew that both Eudoria and Mycroft had been rather insistent when it came to who he was allowed to see.

She would never say it aloud but she thinks it did play a large part in him becoming clean that he wasn't allowed to see either her or his younger brother.

He takes the place opposite her and she knows that it would be false to assume that he does it out of courtesy, he is already analyzing every spot on her clothing.

She fixes him with an intense stare daring him to ask whatever is on his mind. It takes a few seconds but eventually he opens his mouth.

"What brings you to London?" She thinks for a moment and then shakes her head.

"You tell me." If he wasn't itching before with the need to share everything he has gathered about her he is now.

"Mummy -" She has to try and hide a smile at her older brothers use of the endearment towards her mother. "has left, obviously. You either decided that you should follow her or that you were of better use in London. I am guessing the first option because you have several little dirt spots on the hem of your jeans and you have little fragments of kautschuk on your palms, presumably from a bicycles handlebar.  
You packed your bag but without structure, I can see from here that some items were carelessly chucked into it. I can only presume but I'm guessing you have neither thought your plan through nor was it a real plan and more of a faulty idea."

The 'am I right' lingers in the air and she shakes her head yes in conformation. She swallows the urge to roll her eyes.

"Correct." Is all she says growing quiet again.

"What do you know?" He asks, leaning forward. Enola tells him what she knows, realizing in the process that she does in fact know nothing.

Sherlock though grows quiet and mulls her answers over in his head, probably imagining Eudoria walking down the driveway, an image that has been playing in Enolas head for all the duration of her journey.

Her phone chimes the obnoxious first two seconds of Sherlock playing 'God save the Queen', signalizing Mycrofts call. She fumbles with it and then answers it, ignoring Sherlocks amused expression.

"Where are you?" Mycroft asks, tone clipped short, she feels intimidated almost immediately.

"In a cab." She answers truthfully, she had not anticipated the inevitable call from him, had not calculated that he would know as soon as she'd set foot onto the platform.

Which now left her feeling silly. He sighs presumably swallowing something biting.

"Where are you Enola?" She looks up to Sherlock for help, he stretches his hand out and she puts her phone into it.

"Mycroft," He says just as biting as Mycroft had done mere seconds ago. She can hear Mycrofts voice change from previously slightly aggravated to flat out angry.

After a few seconds of listening to Mycroft, Sherlock presses the conversation away, he turns around and then announces to the cab driver.

"To the Diogenes Club."

* * *

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	2. When I die, let earth and fire mix

Second chapter yay! I see you guys lurking but not commenting that's fine y'all but do me a favour? A review takes like two seconds and there is no commitment included!

Thanks to my beta! Check her out on tumblr, she reblogs nice things! (itsabeautifulmidnight(. )

Chapter 2

_When I die, let earth and fire mix:__  
__It matters not to me, for my affairs will be unaffected._

The Diogenes Club is surprisingly non descriptive but the building still towered above Enola. It had a weird resemblance to an old greek building but that was as close as it came to being remarkable.

"Do we have to enter?" She asks Sherlock, who was standing next to her in silent calculation.

"Of course, Enola." He says, snappy as ever, she ducks, still a little unfamiliar with her brothers rude habits. He notices from his peripheral view but does not comment.

The siblings are welcomed in the building by a man with thinning white hair, he does not speak, she vaguely recalls that neither the spoken word nor woman are allowed in the club.

He leads them to Mycrofts private room, its full of books and papers stacked neatly on Mycrofts desk and shelves, the two chairs in front of the desk are mahogany.

She takes the chair farthest away from the door, thinking of Mycroft and his umbrella.

She knows that he wouldn't smack her with it, but she has been having a deep suspicion that Sherrinford had tinkered with it. Might be enhanced with poison or a dagger, so better not get too close.

She nervously fiddles with her hands in her lap, she knows she has no reason to be nervous but Mycroft absolutely always has her trembling, intimidated even.

She knows that Sherrinford feels like that too but he, unlike her, has learned how to handle the other two Holmes siblings without revealing too much about his inner workings.

She might have to ask him about that later, she thinks, drawing her feet to her chest resting them on the expensive leather in the process.

Sherlock is behind her, she can feel his presence, he stares stoically over her head on the wall, where some old family pictures hang.

"Sentiment." He mumbles as derogatory as possible.

She can spot a picture of herself from where she is sitting, a past mirror version smiling at her, virtually mocking her.

She hadn't even known that Mycroft owned any pictures at all, it would be false to assume that he put them there because of sentiment, as Sherlock put it so eloquently, she knows that it's a demonstration to his colleagues.

Mycroft enters, in his hands another stack of official looking papers, to her surprise he does not carry his umbrella

Mycroft is nothing if not intimidating. And he definitely used that just in the right doses, every now and then.

As he sat facing his siblings-without his umbrella, Enola noted- he felt that he no longer had enough influence over his siblings to intimidate them.

Enola knows her brother well enough to tell he has started to feel his control and countenance slip from his fingers.

She knows it's because Mycroft usually knows what their mother is up to, knows immediately when she is planning one of her escapades, he knows the moment the mere thought of a trip crosses her mind.

It virtually freezes him that Eudoria slipped through his extensive CCTV system, and probably makes him wonder too. Sherlock is standing by the window, intently staring then and again announcing another question to be asked.

He is mostly reassembling and deducing whatever little information Enola has given him, trying to humilliate Mycroft.

Enolas knees are drawn to her chest, she knows exactly how vulnerable she must look like to her brothers, but just then she can not bring herself to actually care.

She needs to have something to hold onto, even if it's just her own body, or she'll cry which would be more than just humiliating, she hasn't cried in the presence off these two brothers since she learned how to stop herself from crying.

Not even when she had fractured her clavicle by falling from a tree, but its the same feeling, the same painful burning sensation in her body, but now its in her chest for an altogether different reason.

Mycroft regards her with an exceptionally cold look, which normally would send shivers down her spine but she is more than just preoccupied with willing her eyes to stop from watering.

"Do you plan on telling me just how you traveled from Ferndell Hall to Chichester?" He asks, after a few seconds of silently observing her, she knows that he knows.

"By bicycle, obviously." Sherlock intercepted, glowering at Mycroft for an altogether different reason it seemed. Mycroft gave him one of his shark smiles, that were more him baring his teeth like a hyena than a real smile.

"I haven't missed it, Sherlock. But I asked Enola." Sherlock looked confused from Mycroft to her, clearly missing that Mycroft was about to reprimand their sister.

"So..." He pressed again.

"With the bicycle." She swallowed the 'obviously'.

"Care to tell me what ungodly vapidity possessed you?"

"I, I..." She stammered trying to find the right words, only to be interupted by Sherlock: "Mycroft! There are many more important things we need to attend too, do not bother. For instance what possessed Mummy? Where has she disappeared too? And just how did she slip from under your radar?"  
The jab rang home for Mycroft resumed his smile and turned his attention to the papers he had brought with him.

From where she was sitting she could see that the papers were lists of the CCTV records, that had spotted people that looked vaguely like her mother or were her mother.

Hand scrawled notes confirmed when Eudoria Holmes had passed these cameras, it wasn't his handwriting, she would've been able to distinguish his writing from miles away. She suspected that it was his personal assistants, who was well informed enough to discern the Holmes family members.

She spotted the time line that was drawn in conclusion from the records and began comparing it to what she remembered and knew, the realization that it didn't fit came quickly.

She reached out and took it without asking, she inspected it for a moment and realized that whoever had written it had missed eight minutes, miscalculating the distance to travel by car from Chichester to London, perhaps?

"What do you see?" After a few seconds of hesistation she began wording what she had spotted.

"Eight minutes are missing, there is every second documented but not these, and she couldn't have slipped from under your radar unless, of course she..."

"She met someone in a blind angle." Sherlock finished for her.

"Perhaps to collect new documents?" He supplied further, suddenly he retrieved his phone from his ridiculous coats pocket, he began scanning his screen.

Mycroft cleared his throat, Sherlock graced him with a short glance and then went back to fishing for information, Enola though caught his disapproving glare, she pretends not to see it, averting her gaze.

"Sherlock, my people could be already on it, there is no need for you to utilize your online resources." Mycroft says this with a sneer, Sherlocks head snaps up, his own glare matching up to Mycrofts.

"Could is the key word here. And I assume you do not trust your employees enough to handle this matter, or else they would already be on it. In conclusion I am your best guess, dear brother."

If Mycroft would've been that kind of person he would've rolled his eyes but alas he settles for another variation of a trademark sneer.

"May I remind you Sherlock, we have other matters to discuss." He nods in the direction of another stack of papers and Enola instantly knows that it's about her, more specifically her immediate future.

The Holmes brothers will play destiny and she imagines that it's Mycrofts dream part, he has been trying to pressure Eudoria to send Enola to boarding school all her life. And now that he has the control he will certainly assert over her to the best of his abilities.  
Sherlock looks up from his phone and then nonchalantly says: "Emancipation, obviously."

Enola snorts mirthlessly, just as Mycroft says: "Non-risible ideas, would be of better use, Sherlock."

"Then what do you propose?" Sherlock asks not once raising his gaze from the phone. Enola feels increasingly like she isn't even in the room, with her brothers it's no surprise, being in a room with them always feels like a kids perpetual stay at the adult table.

"She is sixteen Sherlock, you can not honestly suggest with good conscience to _abandon _her."

"I asked you to suggest something, your signature is on the contract, you are her guardian, not me."

Suddenly all colour drained from Enolas face, startled at the idea of a premeditated contract, she felt her breath hitch at the back of her throat.

She needed to see it, black on white, but she couldn't possibly ask Mycroft to hand it to her, without fearing embarrassment and another reprimand. Instead she clings to her legs a little tighter and begins fumbling for her phone.

There is a message notification on her screen, from Sherrinford. _'Call me' _Is all it says, she quickly composes a short '_can't'_, it takes all but five seconds for him to reply. _'cerberus and hades?'_ He asks and Enola can't help but smirk.

"With all factors included, I think boarding school would be best for Enola." Mycroft says and then produces various colourful brochures, with smiling girls on the covers.

Enola feels a little overwhelmed with the requirements Mycroft imposes on her, it's not like Enola has a problem with the concept of boarding schools but she has been at home all her life, she didn't even attend primary school, there were private tutors for that and plenty of them.

Therefore the idea of boarding school kind of frightens her.

"Pah!" Sherlock barked and discarded his phone for a moment. "Boarding school, please Mycroft, isn't there anything more ordinary you could've come up with?"

Enola turns to her phone again, Mycroft and Sherlock are able to fight their battles without her just as well as they are able to decide whatever will happen to her by themselves.

_'Mycroft says boarding school, Sherlock says no.' _She clicks the send button and waits for Sherrinford to reply. _'What do you say?' _She thinks for a moment, weighing options back and forth, if she is honest she would much rather do everything on her own terms, but she knows in which position she would put Mycroft in by refusing.

_'Yes, I guess?'_ She replies.

"Give them to me." She says and holds her hand out for her brother to put the pamphlets in. He raises his eyebrows but complies.

Sherlock makes a noise of disapproval in the back of his throat.

"A pity." He says crossing his arms over his chest, while he plops down onto the chair next to her. She flicks through them not sure what to look for, for a short moment she thinks of just eliminating her choice by using 'eeny, meeny, miney, moe', she discards the idea quickly mostly because she knows that's not how you make life choices.

She places them on the desk again and then shrugs. "How do I..." She gesticulates waving her hands.

"Determine a choice?" Mycroft inquires, his eyebrows still quirked. "There is no wrong, I compiled a list, these are the best public schools in the country and whatever you choose will be a good choice."

She looked at the school names again, trying to figure out if she has already heard anything anywhere about these schools. The only school she recognizes is St. Georges, the school of her last math tutor. The point of absolute pressure had clearly passed for she took the pamphlet thrust it Mycrofts way and gave a curt nod.

"Well, if that is settled then, we can focus on other matters."

"I need to visit Ferndell Hall." Sherlock says, standing up stretching like a cat.

"And Enola will come with me." He adds in an afterthought.

Mycroft scowls again. "I don't see her being of use for you, she should stay here." So I can watch her, is what he leaves out of his sentence.

"She is the only one who knows how everything looked like before Mummy left, I will need her."

Enola is very close to calling Sherrinford and asking him if he has space in his apartment to spare for her.

"Do what you must, but please do not forget her." Mycroft says, perhaps thinking of the time when she fractured her clavicle, or the time she almost drowned in the pond near the house, when Sherlock was supposed to be watching her.

For the second time of the day Enola was travelling, this time though not by train but by car, kindly sponsored by Mycroft. Sherlock sat next to her, caught up in what he called his mind palace.

She sat by the window, her head leaning against the window, vibrating and then and again uncomfortably hitting against the glass. But not matter, she fell asleep anyway.

Thank you for checking this out!


	3. When I die, let earth and fire mix pII

**A/N: Thank you for reading, reviewing, favouriting and just being awesome! Special thanks to my beta! **

**Chapter 3**

_When I die, let earth and fire mix: It matters not to me, for my affairs will be unaffected. p. II_

* * *

Ferndell Hall looks just the same as it did in the morning, still surrounded by tall oaks, and the stonewalls with all its oriels and impressive moulding.

Sherlock though, seemingly did not care, he approached the entrance door and opened it without regard for his childhood home.

Enola lingers a bit, uncertain what to do, because how is it possible to be in London one moment and in the next right back at the place where you came from. It all feels like semi surreal ludo draw.

She shouldered her bag again and then followed her brother into the house. Mrs. Lane the housekeeper was waiting already, round face etched with worry, as soon as Enola enters she finds herself engulfed in bone crushing hug.

"Where have you been?" Mrs. Lane inquired holding her at arms length, Sherlock was standing behind Mrs. Lane observing, clearly put off by the scene unfolding in front of him.

"In London." Enola answered, feeling awfully embarrassed.

"In London!?" Mrs. Lane exclaimed, hand over her heart. "My dear, London, oh my goodness!" Flabbergasted she began kneading her apron nervously in her hands.

"And you brought Mr. Holmes with you." She turned around and gave him a curt nod.

"And where is Mrs. Holmes?" She asked looking over Enolas shoulder, to the car.

Enola hesitated for a moment feeling utterly helpless by confessing to her mother leaving her but before she could compose a sufficient answer Sherlock intercepted: "Our mother left to an unknown destination. I am sure she will return soon, in the meantime, Enola should perhaps eat something."

With that Sherlock left the entrance hall and strode up the stairs, relieved Enola faltered slightly. "Yes, yes your brother is certainly right, come with me dear, we just had tea."

After eating the leftovers from the tea, Enola retreated to her room only to find that Sherlock sat on her armchair staring down onto the driveway.

"What are you doing?" She asked crawling onto her bed, watching him.

"Constructing mummys departure." He said and then announced: "I have something for you." Pointing to his coat which hung over the chairs armrest.

"In my pocket." A late birthday present, perhaps, she thought, but quickly discarded that idea, the only people in her family that actively gave presents were Sherrinford and she herself.

Nevertheless she began searching his coat, in the left pocket she found a few folded papers. She unfolded them and smoothed them out, revealing that they were the 'agreement of guardianship', the contract Mycroft and her mother had arranged.

"Oh." She whispered, at the bottom where her brothers and mothers signatures, clear swirling handwriting.

Just as clean as the words on paper, black on white it said;

_I hereby agree to take full responsibility and be the legal guardian of _Enola Cassiopeia Hadassah Vernet Holmes _if the mother _Eudoria Celeste Hadassah Vernet Holmes_ is hindered to take full responsibility herself, either in the case of death or her decision to deprecate the responsibility, until the minor is twentyone of age, I am obligating myself to act foremost in the minors best interest_ - Enola crumpled the papers and threw them onto the floor.

Fists clenched she turned on her heel and stormed to her mothers room, fully intending to just destroy it beyond recognition.

She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw her mothers room, the wilted lilies, the crumpled cream duvet, the open cupboards, everything just looked so out of place, out of character even.

She felt emotions crush like waves over her, tears clouded her vision and with a last final cry of frustration she slid to the floor.

"Bloody fucking hell." She growled, on her knees, hands clasping each other, throat tight.

"Fuck!" She said again, this time considerably louder. _Fuck you for leaving me, fuck you for never being anything other than a biological incubator, for never being with me, being there for me, fuck you for not loving me __**enough**__. _

All these things she wanted, no _needed _to say, were circling her mind, antagonizing her further. Hot tears began welling up in her eyes, immediately running down her cheeks, hiccups ragged her chest.

She knew that she looked pitiful, exactly like she had been trying to avoid to look like in front of her brothers, but with her mother gone there was no more layer to shed that would make her more vulnerable.

She had been left, like you leave a fleeting acquaintance, Enola desperately wanted to give her mother the benefit of the doubt but her mother's plan had been duly executed, suggesting that she just didn't care.

Her brothers couldn't, just couldn't condemn her for this, christ, she wasn't even judging herself.

As if on cue the oak door cracked open, revealing Sherlock, he hesitated, a rare occurrence especially considering his usual dauntless behaviour.

She knew better but for a moment she thought he was displaying a rare spout of sensitivity, which was quickly dispelled when he opened his mouth.

"You look absolutely deplorable, compose yourself." Despite, trying her best she began crying anew, hot fresh tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I'm trying to calm myself, you bloody moron." She said ragged breathing making her sound like a child. The moment where she wanted to throw one of her mothers beloved vases Sherlocks way, preferably colliding with his head in the process, had come.

"You are precisely doing the opposite of calming, you are obviously bordering on hysteria."

"What concern is it of yours?" She spat, watching her brothers expression change slightly, she doesn't ever speak to him or Mycroft in that recalcitrant way, he isn't used to her being so blunt.

"It's none of my concern, but honestly constrain yourself." He berates, she couldn't though, tears were still trickling down her cheeks.

"Enola..." He sighs, she half expected him to leave her in peace and half expects him to berate her some more, but he once again surprises her by coming to sit next to her, offering his own version of crotchety comfort.

He began searching his coat pockets for a handkerchief, producing a vile looking, slightly yellowish excuse for a tissue. When he held it out to her, she shook her head, declining. Instead she leaned over taking a kleenex box from her mothers drawer, using a tissue to dab her tears away. Sniffling she buried her face in the crook of her arms, while resting on her knees.

"I feel stupid." She announced, frowning.

"You should feel-"

"I did not mean to spark any further lecture from you, so please refrain." There was still a heavy acidic undertone in her voice, but Sherlock did not care, he pulled himself to his feet ever so feline-like, dusting of his coat, observing the room around him.

"You won't find anything." She said, pulling herself to her feet as well, there was nothing personal in here and what little was still there had been carelessly dishevelled, leaving the room not only unusually messy but uncharacteristic as well.

"Pah!" He exclaimed and began scouring the room, looking through drawers, producing underwear, jewelry, shoes but nothing of importance, Enola quietly retreated out of the room and down the hall.

Her mothers study was her destination, oak wall panelling dominated the room, it wasn't as dishevelled as her mother's bedroom had been, papers were neatly stacked and all the books were in their places, it looked eerily like Mycrofts room at the Diogenes club, perhaps because it had earlier belonged to her father.

And if there is anything Mycroft ever wanted to be it was to be like their father, or better yet be more successful than him. His room was a blatant copy.

This would be the next room Sherlock would look through, so she had to hurry.

She opened the desk drawers quietly looking for any clue that would suggest anything about her mother's new location, any hidden lead or anything no matter how small.

She knew that Sherlock would probably have a better chance at deducing where Eudoria was headed too, but she couldn't care less, it was personal, to her Eudoria had always been an enigma, a little disattached, a little more acquaintance than mother,

a shadow that roamed Ferndell Hall, only ever appearing when social attendance of both of them was required.

Enola grew up mostly unsupervised, Siger had died when she had been just nine and he hadn't been very fatherly anyway, nor did he particularly care for the child that was conceived to amend his marriage.

The closest thing to a father she had, has always been Mycroft, not that she was very convinced of her brothers child-rearing abilities but he was certainly the next best thing.

With swift fingers she shuffled papers, not sure what exactly to look for until she found a hard, small object inside a sealed manila envelope, she pulled it out of the drawer, it was addressed to her.

She hurriedly jammed it between her jeans' waistband and stomach, effectively concealing it with her top, she continued looking through her mother's things, coming up with nothing.

Stealthily she crept back into the hall on her to her room, she could still hear Sherlock pottering around Eudoria's room, she quickened her pace and closed her door as silently as possible.

She removed the envelope and ripped it open, a small leather bound book fell into her hands, her mother's address book.

Just the plain address book, there was nothing special about it, except that every last person her mother had ever met was in there, mostly because Eudoria just didn't believe in keeping addresses on an electronic device.

Enola leafed through it, looking for anything unusual, as expected nothing caught her eye immediately, looking a little more thorough, training her eyes to see any anomalies, she finally distinguished one name.

The writing was pressed through to the next page, it was Lord Tewksbury. Unfortunately it was a P.O box, not a real address but at least it was a start.

Now she just needed to find someone to bring her to the post office to send a letter to it and to avoid making Sherlock suspicious, not that he has reason to think that anything is missing, who wouldn't take their address book with them?

Matt was outside, enjoying the rare british sunlight, he smiled brightly when he saw her approaching.

"Where have you been, Enzo?" He asked, eyes glinting mischievously.

"Didn't your mother tell you?"

He barked a laugh. "Didn't think you had it in you." He said pulling himself up.

"Don't act so surprised," She scoffed.

"What favour can I do for you today?" He asked, eyeing her as if she never came for anything but favours.

"Oh, bugger off." She mumbled feeling caught, blushing she continued; "As a matter of fact, there is something I need from you, could you, maybe, drive with me to the post office?"

He acted like he was contemplating her request then did a little ridiculous bow.

"You are in luck, fair Enzo, 'cause I reckon this is a good birthday present substitute, so follow me to the car."

The car ride was short, while Matt drove, Enola scribbled a quick message nothing too personal, just a simple '_Where are you? EH_' and slipped it into an envelope.

"What are you sending?"

"Just something for my mother." Enola answered and Matt gave her a wary look.

"That with your mother really sucks balls, eh?" Enola nodded feeling her throat tighten again.

The post office clerk, looked bored as she issued her letter but when she announced her name, he lit up, retrieving a package from under his desk.

"This is for you, it was dispensed about a week ago." There was no addressor on it, again just her own name. She recognised it as Eudoria's writing instantly.

Hands shaking she opened it and found, small plastic wrapped bundles of pounds. Hundreds of pounds.

Normally, she would've felt kind of joyous when in close proximity of so much money, but to her it seemed like a parting disbursement, money that had a purpose. She was getting angry, hot boiling white anger spread in her chest.

"Is that money?" Matt asked leaning over, eyes wide. "These are like fifty thousand quid! Who send it to you?!"

Blankly she stared at him ignoring his question she turned on her heel and stalked back to the car.

The first thing she did when they got back was to sprint up the stairs, money still in her hands pressed to her chest. Sherlock wasn't in Eudoria's room he was in his old childhood room, sitting in a chair thinking.

Unceremoniously she burst the door open, turned the parcel over and spilled the pounds onto the floor. Sherlock's face slipped slightly and Enola was close to completely losing her mind.

"What is this?" He asked already bending over the pile on the marble floor.

"Pounds, lots and lots of pounds," She spat again she felt tears well up in her eyes, this time they were frustrated tears not sad ones.

"I'm this close," She held her fingers apart. "-to going absolutely batshit bonkers." She exclaimed her voice shrill.

"A parting gift..." He mumbled, deep in thought.

"Yes, a bloody parting gift, 'oh, I realised I don't want to be your mother anymore, here have lots of money to make up for it'." Okay, yes, she did realise that she sounded completely lunatic, but she just couldn't care anymore.

Sherlock looked startled and then laughed.

"Don't laugh at me." She ground out between her teeth, she was alternating between anger and mad frustration.

"Mum up and left and I get nothing but _money_."

"Other people would be happy about, what fifty thousand pounds?"

"I'm not happy because...because I really want... _Mum_." There she said it, it was of course not the conventional way she wanted her mother, she wanted answers, sufficient answers.

"Enola-" He sighed, this time though it wasn't berating but understanding. He stepped over the pile of money on the floor and pulled her into a hug, lightly squeezing her.

"I'm almost completely certain, you'll get all the answers you need. Sooner or later." He said with such certainty that she couldn't help but believe him.

Nothing came with the mail, days and weeks after she had sent the letter there was still no reply, the end of the holidays came closer and closer and Enola became more and more irate with her mother.

Not only that but before she was scheduled to go to Mycroft began sending her information she would need and proposed dates for an evaluation test for entrance to the school.

Not that she needed to worry about that, school work always had come easily to her.

What worried her was that she began feeling less comfortable with the idea of boarding school. There was no way she would be able to get out of it, but she would've prefered some leverage, to find her mother.

So far though, there was no such luck.

**A/N(2): I will give you my firstborn and or a limb if you would be so kind to review! **


	4. The avalanche

Chapter 4

"Consider the daffodil. And while you're doing that, I'll be over here, looking through your stuff." Jack Handey

* * *

"Are you sure?" Sherrinford asked, she could hear him typing over the phone, probably preoccupied with a new invention to track down terrorists before they even knew they were trying to, you know, terrorise.

"Sherlock counted." She said, the money in question was neatly stacked upon the glass coffee table in the sitting room.

"Does he know what the connotation is?"

"No he doesn't yet, he has been examining the house though."

Just then a loud clatter could be heard coming from the cellar.

"What was that?" Sherrinford asked alarmed, momentarily stopping his incessant typing.

"I don't know, let me just..." Enola trailed off, panic bubbling in the pit of her stomach, she sprung to her feet, quickly walking to the stairs leading up to the attic. She could hear Sherlock swearing, not that she was worried about his wellbeing, what was more worrying was the contents above her that could possibly be damaged.

"What is he doing?" She could hear Sherrinford faintly but she chose to ignore him while going up the stairs. The sight that was presenting itself before her was almost comical, Sherlock stood amidst fallen acrylic paint cans, some of them open, releasing a horrid chemical stench. He twirled in the mess he made, showing of a few red specks on his dress-shirt.

"Sherlock?" She inquired, eyebrows arched. He ignored her for a moment, only regarding her fleetingly then turning his head back to the cans and the paintings that were leaning against the walls.

"...Why was she hiding these paintings? What are they supposed to-" He trailed of, cocking his head to the side, observing a particularly boring landscape aquarelle painting that showed Ferndell Hall.

"Uh, Sherlock?" She repeated, he didn't listen.

"Is he on drugs again?" Sherrinford inquired, worry apparent in his voice, she brought the phone to her ears.

"No, I don't think so, cocaine looks different, I mean-"

"What do you know about cocaine anyway?" Enola frowned.

"Enough, we do have access to public service broadcasters. Sherlock just found my ruddy paintings." Abruptly Sherlock turned to her, fixing her and alternatively the paintings with a stare.

"Uh, Ford, I need to hang up, call you later." She hung up as Sherlock pulled a in her eyes poorly drawn copy of the Girl with the Pearl Earring from behind a stash of sketches.

"Your work?" He questioned, looking over the painting, taking it in, properly analysing every paintbrush stroke.

"Yes." She nodded stepping closer, picking the cans up, carefully closing lid after lid, while he observed painting after painting.

She knew that her brothers never took much notice of her own talents, they always knew that Sherrinford was brilliant in what he did, the moment he built his first exploding fountain pen, the pen they expected him to built, he filled the family shoes perfectly well, her own brilliance was overshadowed by her brothers combined memento brilliance.

And although she never considered her paintings brilliant it is her own effort of showing talent not yet assigned to any family member, except maybe her Mamie Vernets brother.

She's never shown anyone of the family her paintings, something about perfecting her art before putting it into the public eye haunts her. Now that Sherlock has seen her 'secret' it feels a lot like exploitation.

She swallows any emotions that might become unhandy and steps in when Sherlock takes an unfinished piece from the scaffold.

"Could you please not-"

"This is a Matsys." He mumbled, gently holding it against the sunsets light shining through the window.

"If it is it's a piss-poor Holmes copy." He was of course right, it was the infamous Money Changer and His Wife that Enola had tried her hands at.

"Is this how you spend your time?" Sherlock asked putting the painting back, watching his little sister as if he sees her in a different light now, his silver-blue eyes ignited with curiosity.

"I picked it up after I realised that sports weren't my thing." Sarcasm drips from her every word, after a lot of broken bones, mothers clamour and Sherrinfords threats of breaking her bones personally ('If that's what you need to have some fun I am more than inclined to help you') she had given up.

"Excellent," He mumbled and turned to the painting again, as if he couldn't believe it, Enola blushed at the compliment, enjoying the rare occurrence. Her phone took the moment as Mycroft's obnoxious personalised ringtone began ringing.

Sherlock's expression immediately darkened. Mycroft had been calling for various reasons, lately taking every opportunity and turn to monitor what she did and when she did it. He took the new guardian job quite seriously.

"Yes?"

"_Enola, I am just calling to remind you that you have no more than a week to pack." _

"Alright." She said, still watching Sherlock staring grimly at the phone, making a face to lighten the mood.

"_My assistant will fax valuable information over the course of the week, I presume you are prepared?"_

"Yes," No, but he didn't have to know that.

"_I see,_" Mycroft said, knowingly, obviously not convinced. "_I assume Sherlock is redundant since I received no news on Mummys whereabouts, may I speak to him?"_

Sherlock seemingly hearing what Mycroft said, shook his head mouthing a 'no'.

"He is, uh, preoccupied." Sherlock rolled his eyes, she waved her hand dismissively, mouthing for him to be quiet.

"_Assuming he is residing nearby, may you relay a message?_"

"Yeah sure." She said.

"_Sherlock should call as soon as he is redundant. Give him my best._" She knows Sherlock won't call as does Mycroft but if it gives Mycroft peace of mind then Enola is willing to relay the message.

Mycroft pauses for a moment picking up again with a little worry apparent in his voice and then says: "_And Enola, remember to behave yourself._"

It all became more and more routine to her. She knew that Mycroft was still expecting her to mount the bicycle again, his worry for her was now rivaling his worry for Sherlock and she was unnerved by it.

She knew her brothers never admitted to caring but they cared about each other and they cared for mummy and they cared for her, not an entirely new experience but the close proximity they began to corner her in was becoming quite unusual.

Especially Sherlock, she knew that he had realised that there was nothing he would find in Ferndell Hall, normally he would've returned to London, especially because redundancy did not suit him, but still he was here.

"Sure." She mumbled and ended the conversation.

"Why?"

She blinked confused, frowning. "What, why?"

"Why are you agreeing to be shoved around?"

She snorted. "There isn't anything to shove here, for me to be shoved around would mean that I was intent on standing my ground, Sherlock."

"Clearly you do not want to go, but you still agree. So to ask my easily answerable question again, why say yes to Mycroft's every bid?"

She began chewing her lip in contemplation, coming to no satisfactory answer. The tall brunette snorted, dismissive air becoming frustratingly apparent again.

"Mycroft doesn't need your pampering, tell him what you want to say. I do that and it never hurt me."

"But it never did you any good either." The siblings glared at each other, before Enola averted her gaze, sighing.

"Look, Sherlock whatever you think this is, don't you think we have other problems that should be dealt with?"

Sherlock glared harder, ready to reciprocate an insult, before he was able to do so she turned and went to walk down the stairs.

"Stop pampering Mycroft, he may look like a cherub but he isn't one, Enola!" He called after her, she laughed in response immediately picturing Mycroft with a tiny arrow and a little bow.

"Stop nagging me and start finding things!"

* * *

The youngest Holmes lay in the same spot as her friend Matt had been in just mere weeks ago. The leaving date for school drew nearer and she had yet to take a look at the papers Mycrofts personal assistant had faxed to her, she began lolling on the sunlounger, noticing Matt approaching from her peripheral view.

"What's up, princess?" Ever since she had received the money, Matt had taken an annoying likening to calling her princess.

"Nothing, peasant." She replied frowning, sliding to the side, making space for Matt. "What do you want?" She asked without malice, eyes sparkling mischievously.

Matt settled next to her, pulling his legs up resting his head on her shoulder. "I need your brain and magical hands, princess."

She scowled for a moment before smiling brighter than before.

"What exactly can I do for you?"

Matt kissed her on the cheek, "Thank you!"

She raised her eyebrows playfully, shoving him.

"I do need to know what you need and what you need it for, Matt."

"A drivers license for a friend." He said sheepishly, knowing full well that Enola had problems with forging for people she didn't know.

"Uh, Matt..."

"Come on, please, his driving skills are bloody awesome, you won't get in trouble, I promise. Please Enola." She regarded him for a beat before shaking her head.

"If he gets himself into some ruckus I will not be responsible." She said and got to her feet, leaving Matt to trail behind her.

Enola pulled a box from under her bed for Matt to hold and then went to work with what information he had given her, the only thing she altered was Damons birth year and his address. The hardest thing about forging a driving license was getting the texture of the steering wheel right, it was all about tinkering with the right materials.

And of course getting the digits for identification right. She leaned over her desk, intently working, ignoring Matt practically hanging over her shoulder.

She was so focused that she didn't even hear Sherlock come in. Not until he leaned over her shoulder to see what she was doing. Startled she dropped the card.

"W-What are you doing?" She asked, green eyes wide, she scrambled to pull the offending things from his sight but Sherlock intercepted, squinting at her efforts.

"Another hobby?" He asked eyes sparkling, leaning closer.

"This is brilliant! Mycroft will have a field day with this!" Sherlock exclaimed and Enola swallowed, scowling again.

"You won't tell him." She said positively glaring now. Sherlock was about to say something but she held her hands up to silence him.

"_Or _I will make you call him."

He snorted still delighted despite his sisters discomfort. "And just how do you propose to accomplish that?"

Enola pointed towards the half-finished license. "I've got a certain set of skills, that will come in handy." When Sherlock looked ready to respond Matt interrupted, earning him a glare from Sherlock.

"Uh, I hate to interrupt but Enola, will he shop on us?" Matt who felt thoroughly forgotten quipped, nervously watching the siblings banter grow.

"Pff, he is hardly material to rat us out to any coppers." She said, referring to his drug use. Sherlock's mouth quirked hinting a smile before stepping back.

"Maybe Mycroft is right, for once in his morose life, perhaps boarding school really is best for you, my sister the petty criminal." He said retreating through the door, giving the two one last amused glance.

"Well that was...intimidating." Matt said, visibly relaxing. "It's good that you get along with him so well."

Enola turned slowly regarding Matt with a look of pure wonder. "Get along? I tremble in fear every time he is around, I-I freeze, like prey that is leered at and about to be eaten by the king of the jungle."

"Really? You seemed like you were in your element." She laughed mirthlessly.

"I don't think you got the hang of us Holmses." She said turning back to her license.

"S'pose I don't." Matt said going to sit on her bed, waiting. If he knew one thing about the Holmes it was better to just step back and let them fight with their intellects.

He knew that Enola was smart, honestly brilliant at her best but he suspected that she didn't recognize it as such, largely because all three of her brothers were even smarter, in a normal family she would've been a genius, here she was just a little above average.

And the patronising way both Sherlock and Mycroft talked to her sometimes were certainly not helping her. Sighing he watched her work, quick fingers and concentrated face, here she looked absolutely in her element.

Even if what she did was criminal. She had started her business for her own benefit when she was thirteen, her explanation was that she had been bored. Nothing more, nothing less. Sixteen year old Matt had been left reeling, mind boggling that's what she is to him, always has been.

It took her ten minutes to finish, the license was near perfect, at least as a scam for unsuspecting policemen.

"Tell him the second time around he owes me," She said, lying down next to Matt, handing him the freshly laminated card.

"You could make a lot of money with this." Matt said, pocketing the license.

"You forget, I don't need any money."

"Ah, that I did." He answered, feeling a slight pang of jealousy, even though logic told him that there was nothing to be jealous of, especially considering that she had received the money as a farewell gift.

And he was sure if he'd ask her she would give him some of the money, without asking questions, he just couldn't do that either.

"What did he mean with boarding school?" He asked, rolling onto his side, propping his head up upon his elbow, she in turn looked at him shortly before looking back up the ceiling.

"Mycroft is my guardian," She looked at him again, tentatively, "He decided to send me to school in Berkshire."

"Berkshire, hmm." It left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Do you- do you want to go?" He asked brows furrowed, they hadn't spent longer than a week at a time apart in their lives, they were siblings by association.

And he couldn't imagine her in a uniform, not Enola with her impaired sense of fashion and obsession with leggings. It was near comical. Enola though, looked nonplussed as if she had already resigned herself to the idea.

She nodded her head yes. "Sherlock says it's a pity but I think I'm right to go, you know, he says I'm 'pampering Mycroft' but I don't want to be an inconvenience."

She looked like she was desperately trying to grasp at straws to make the idea bearable. "And I'm starting to hate this place...this house."

"Oh." He said like the moron he is.

* * *

The day of the first term came quicker than anticipated, Enola was only half prepared, which was to be expected. The packing had begun slowly but with the help of ("Christ, child, what did I always tell you? 'Procrastination is the thief of time'. Better get to work now") she had managed to pack whatever she needed.

Or suspected she needed, with the help of what Mycrofts PA had sent her and what Matt had come up with by googling.

Four suitcases were loaded into the car and Enola climbed after them. Mr. and were saying their goodbyes, was teary eyed as she waved after the retreating car, Matt was waving too, he had chewed Enolas ear off the night before, reminding her that he expects to see her at least on the weekends.

Inside the car, Enola was half swallowed by the leather, weary of what to expect. Sure, she had looked the place up online, still there was nothing she could do to take the nagging feeling in her stomach away.

As she drove up the driveway, she was reminded of Eudoria, who merely a month ago had left Ferndell Hall.

Enolas departure was just part of the avalanche that Eudoria had kicked loose, now she hoped that while Eudoria might never come back she would grow to love her home again.

As they passed the exit, Enolas head swivelled slightly to the left, craning her neck to catch a last glimpse of the chapel.

Her father was buried there, laid to rest in the family crypt, she never felt anything close to emotional attachment towards her father but as far she knew she was the only one to visit his grave.

There was gardener to maintain the order but she was the only one to leave flowers regularly. Resigned she sighed, for the next year there would be no flowers for him, a horrible way to spend life after death.

The two hour long drive elapsed in the blink of an eye. The school building appeared welcoming, as Enola dismounted the car she watched other girls with their parents. Dick, the driver, appeared beside her.

"Miss Holmes, this way to the registration." He said leading her to the main building, he had certainly received solid instructions, they passed the girls and ascended a few stairs.

Dick sorted it all out for her, he had the papers from Mycroft with him and had no problems conveying whatever information he had received.

The lady behind the desk smiled forthcomingly pulling out a map with instructions and circled where she had to go too.

"There you go." She said handing Enola the paper and pointed towards her left, through the open entrance door.

"The upper sixth form girls reside in building number 5, Lovelace, Mrs. Findlay awaits everyone to assign their rooms. Welcome to St. Georges , Miss Holmes."

Enola only half smiled and silently let Dick lead her to the building, she was feeling very unfamiliar, she knew that it wasn't exactly common to transfer to a school towards the end of school time, she still hadn't expected the looks that she received.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see girls her age gather in a lot following her with their eyes, it wasn't malicious which was relieve, still it wasn't exactly something she was used too.

Mrs Findlay was a woman with a kind face and a lot of girls to cater to, she was busy when Enola and Dick approached but was very quick in issuing out the papers for the girls.

Her room was already occupied by a girl a year older at least, the blonde was already busy unpacking, flinging her clothing about. Enola knocked hesitantly, even though the door was wide open.

The girl turned around startled. "Hi!" She exclaimed. "Are you my roommate?"

Enola shook her head yes. She jumped to her feet and extended her hand.

"I'm Cecily." Enola grasped it and smiled.

"I am Enola."

Cecily went to sit on one of the beds scrutinizing her. "So are you new here?"

"Yes, why are you asking?" Enola frowned confused.

"You look like a deer caught in a wildfire, searching for its mum." Cecily winked.

"I look like bambi?" Enola chuckled, so her uncertainty did show.

"No, more like you have never been here before, don't fret, I'm new too. I think they have taken up the liberty to herd the new girls together. Your bed is that one." She pointed her thumb behind her towards the bed by the window. Enola approached it and sat down.

Cecily turned, watching her. "So,"

"So, what?" Enola asked after Cecily didn't continue.

"**So, **tell me something about yourself."

Enola shrugged. "There is nothing much to tell."

"Oh please, no one transfers this late and has no story to tell."

"Well then what is your story?"

"I got sacked." Cecily said dead serious.

"For what?"

"Uh-uh, I'll tell when you'll spill." Just then Dick knocked, suitcases in hand. Enola crossed the room and took one of the suitcases from him, setting it down by her bed.

"Thank you." She acknowledged, as Dick settled the other suitcases.

"You're welcome, Miss Holmes. We'll be in touch." He said tipping his head turning to leave.

"In touch my arse." Enola mumbled thinking of Mycrofts methods, in touch would probably mean that he would put one of his secret service agent to good use. When Dick had closed the door behind him, Cecily excitedly turned to Enola.

"Aha! I knew it, you are a politician's daughter!" Enola blinked. "He has a gun, either politician or _mafia_."

"Uh-" What was the right answer for that? How do you explain that your mother's left you without a word and that your brother has a minor position in the british government or better yet is the government.

"Am I right?" She asked.

"Technically." Enola answered.

"Technically mafia or politics?" Cecily inquired, Enola could already tell that living with Cecily wouldn't be as easy as anticipated, especially not if she was always so curious.

"Politics." Enola said trying to sound reserved and like she wouldn't answer anymore questions.

"Your mum or dad?"

"My brother."

Cecily looked befuddled, piecing the information together somehow it seemed to dawn on her. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Enola said, although she wasn't sure what Cecily was sorry for.

"We need to go to the dining hall." Cecily said standing up. "Come on."

* * *

A/N Thanks for stopping by, I hope you don't deem this utter rubbish but even if you do you should review! :)


	5. Endurance

So in the reviews I was made aware of the fact that I might seem pretentious regarding the title of the story, so for those of you who start reading from where you have left of, a short explanation: Aprés moi, le dèluge is a french expression that allegorically means 'After me, the flood', which is supposed to mean 'When I'm gone the disaster that may follow does not concern me'. It's attributed to Louis XV or Madame de Pompadour, apparently Louis said it shortly before his death and after his death the French revolution broke out. You see where I'm going with this? I took the phrase (the pretty french words ;))from the Regina Spektor song 'Aprés moi', so check that out! Thank you for your support and suggestions!

* * *

Chapter 5

IVY

The first three weeks at St. Georges had been tiresome for Enola, every night she found herself in bed, overwhelmingly sad, crying, infact she cried so excessively that her eyes were constantly and alarmingly red and swollen.

She lay in bed when the lights were out staring at the ceiling trying to work past all the things she had been told, her own mother's words kept circling in her head, it felt like someone was ingraining her words with a chisel in the inside of her head.

'Enola, you'll do quite well on your own' Eudoria is virtually always standing over her, looking over her shoulder smiling bright and proud, proud in a way Enola could never fathom.

The worst part though was how inexplicably and utterly wrong Eudoria had been.

She wasn't doing well, without Mrs. Lane, without Matt, without Eudoria she was not only alone but helpless.

Every night that she cried, she tried her hardest to be silent but she knew that Cecily heard her, she was decent enough to not mention it in the morning but Enola knew that Cecily was itching to tell her off.

Enola was in a trance, everyday she would wake up go to her classes and then go back to her laptop, she would stare blankly for hours, refreshing her email account over and over again waiting for _something, anything. _

But as it was, she was **alone**.

* * *

Thursday morning was bleary, thick fog was hanging over the grounds of the school the trees were swaying in the cold breeze, the grounds were deserted.

The clock next to Enolas bed announced that it was barely fifteen minutes before six. Soon the other girls would wake up and turmoil would erupt through the halls of the dorm rooms.

In a spur of the moment attitude Enola threw her blanket off and swung her legs out of her bed. Overwhelmed by the same restless feeling - that something had to be done - that she had experienced back in the night of her birthday she made her decision in a matter of minutes, as luck would have it Cecily was out on one of her own escapades.

Enola had free reign over the room and she used it to full extent by throwing clothing about in search for something inconspicuous and neutral.

Where she was going she needed to be unnoticed, at least for a while. She knew that Mycroft's people were capable of recognising her if she didn't go into the city incognito and therefore she needed a convincing disguise, preferably something unexpected.

As Enola searched the room her eyes caught onto Cecily's drawers. Cecily was in contrast to Enola a good deal more into colour when it came to her clothing.

Something girly would do best, something opposite of what Enola would wear, Enola went for a powered pink skirt and a floral top that would surely hang loose around her chest area.

Cecily's trenchcoat made the outfit that looked so unfamiliar in the mirror perfect, the only thing she now needed was either a hat or hair dye, the second idea was discarded quickly but a hat seemed like a good idea.

Enola found a white one under her desk, jammed underneath a German textbook. The outfit was a creamy white dream. And so little like Enola that she almost didn't recognise herself in the mirror.

Enola gathered her belongings and crammed them into one of her own bags, as she went through her stuff she came across the only thing that could potentially lead her to her mother, Eudorias address book.

She thoughtfully fingered with it for a moment and then put it into her coats inside pocket.

Satisfied she shoved the window above her bed open as quietly as possible and put her left leg over the frame and then slid over it holding onto it with a death grip, before sliding through she observed the room one last time looking for something she might've missed.

She let go when nothing important was in sight and drifted onto the windowsill. The jump from there wasn't very graceful she tumbled down from the windowsill and her fall was cushioned by the dewy grass, a sudden stab of pain went through her body coming from her wrist which was pinned beneath her torso.

Frustrated she began curse whispering into the wet grass, all the while staining her borrowed coat.

"Fuck." She hissed and began scrambling to her feet, panicked she looked around trying to see if anyone was witnessing her departure.

The lights were out all around the campus and Enola willed her feet to move faster, cradling her arm to her chest.

Enola ducked beneath the hedges around the building and ran over the visitor car park towards the street that would lead up to the high street.

She ducked into the boughs, shielding her face with her hands until it was safe to walk on the side of the street, where she kept turning her head to the side so that no one would recognise her if any teachers came frontally on the road.

She felt paranoid as she kept bolting into the ditch that followed the road whenever a car came, the determination to finally figure out where her mother was and why she had left kept her moving and jumping.

Her destination was once again a train station, she knew that her mission was in danger of failing early if she didn't move her limbs differently and shielded her face as inconspicuous as possible.

The cameras in the hall were all pointing to the entrance and exit doors, the moment she stepped into the ticket hall she would be caught on camera and judging by Mycroft's usual behavior he would check here first when the school notified him.

Enola pulled her bag to her front and opened it, she began pretend searching it and went in, pushing the door with force open but catching it and holding it in place so that one camera was unable to record her.

The second camera was only able to film her back, fooling the cameras and by association Mycroft and his people really sparked a sense of adventure in the pit of her stomach.

She couldn't hide a delighted grin as she bought a ticket.

* * *

The train rolled gently into the Victoria Station, the only people in the compartment were businessman all caught up in their work, Enola stood out among them with her light colored outfit against their mostly grey and black suits.

Throughout the whole journey she had occupied herself with figuring out who to pay a visit to first. She had marked the people she didn't recognise and had circled those who seemed to be part of a recent entry.

As Enola dismounted the tube she felt sick with anticipation, her hands were inadvertently shaking and the dizzy feeling that accompanied the nervousness was so overwhelming that she had to hurry out of the packed station.

Above the ground, taxis were moving fast within the traffic and the people around her were part of the early wave of office drudgers, none of it was familiar and frankly if she'd have a choice she wouldn't subject herself to the busyness of Londons mornings.

She braced herself for the onslaught of people she would have to face today by taking a deep breath and reminding herself that without any information she would be miserable for the rest of the school year, or even worse the rest of her life.

She realised that she would probably meet a lot of her mother's friends that couldn't help or in the worst case would refuse to help her.

She would never say it aloud but she had placed a lot of expectations on her quest and if the whole thing failed and if nothing came of it she didn't know if she could ever cope with it.

Enola wrapped her coat tighter and began walking towards a crossroads in the direction of a small inner city park, she crossed the streets and entered the park and followed the path to cross through.

* * *

Rows of whitewashed houses appeared in sight, number 72 belonged to Mrs. Stratham. If Enola was honest with herself she found the idea of ringing the doorbell of a stranger as unsettling as it could possibly get.

However her finger was impelled by an invisible force and she rang the brazen bell.

The woman who opened was podgy, grey-haired and hostile, her creases, especially those on her forehead were deeper, more pronounced than any other crease on her ashen face. She looked like she was frozen in a constant state of apprehension.

"Are you Theresa Stratham?" Enola asked, she bit her lower lip in anticipation, uncertainty was showing all over her face.

"Who's asking?" The woman snapped glowering at Enola as if she was a salesperson.

"I'm sorry Madam, my name is Enola Holmes."

"I'm sorry, who?" Mrs. Stratham began to look even more irritated, it reminded Enola of her aunt Mélisande when anyone in close vicinity had the audacity to botch up her precious french.

"My mother is Eudoria Holmes..." Mrs. Stratham's expression immediately softened.

"Ah yes, Eudoria, what can I do for you dear?" For a moment she was stunned, she hadn't thought of anything comprehensive or smart to say at all, she had expected the door yo close on her the moment she explained herself.

"Uh, I'm looking for my mother, I haven't...," For a moment she paused to gather her thoughts and then she continued, her voice stronger than before.

"She's gone missing and I'm trying to find the person she has last spoken to." Mrs. Stratham listened intently straining her creases after a moment of silence she replied:

"I really am sorry, dear but I haven't seen her for half a year, she even missed our regular tea agreement last month." Mrs. Stratham was certainly still peeved about that but that was secondary the main problem was that Enola could tell that she was telling the truth, disappointed she nodded her thanks and turned to descend the stairs.

The hunt for information did not start out as well as she had hoped for.

The mid morning stretched into a long row of handshaking, disappointment and no new information whatsoever.

Within three hours Enola had canvassed from door to door, the people who opened the doors were the usual acquaintances Eudoria associated with but no one was distinctive.

Frustration overwhelmed Enola to the point that she was willing to give up. Chelsea, South Kensington and undoubtedly the rest of London had virtually no relevant information on her mother's whereabouts.

The mood she had drooped down to lead her to a bench on a roadside just outside the last house she had rung the doorbell at.

She pulled her legs up and drew them to her chest, comfortably resting her head on her knees, staring mindlessly at the leaves that were bludging the wayside sluice.

Was now the time to give up?

Was now the time to return to bed, wallow in pathetic self-pity, endure the rest of the year and then try to forget?

Clearly she had to do something because even if Cecily was polite enough to not say anything, Enola was quite ready to bash her own head in.

Something just had to turn into a _specific _something.

The address book was without any doubt the place to look for another house, another person she could bother today.

Hazlewood, D., 50 Rosaline Road was the only address left in the whole of London. The next stop would have to be somewhere in Cornwall which was a sheer impossibility to manage in one day without being caught.

Not that she particularly cared about being caught anymore, if they hadn't spotted her yet they either didn't do their jobs particularly well or they were preoccupied with a matter of national importance.

Any catastrophes that prevented over enthusiastics interns from reporting her suited her just fine.

Enola rose from the bench and hailed a taxi to Hazlewoods home. Its miniscule front garden, in comparison to the first rows of houses she had set eyes upon just this morning, Hazlewoods home looked nearly decrepit.

A person stood behind the close-drawn curtains of Hazlewoods house, illuminated by the faint light of a lamp, evidently observing her.

As Enola approached the door the shadow disappeared.

The doorbell was out of commission, someone had torn the plastic off and the wire was disconnected. Enola knocked and as if on cue the lights went out.

Enola's expression changed to a mix of confusion and anger. She swallowed the 'fuck you' that was waiting to leave her tongue and knocked again, louder than before.

Enola waited for a moment and watched presumably Hazlewood move around his home. Discouraged Enola hung her head and rested it against the door both listening for sounds and playing with the letter slot.

Enola leaned closer to the slot and began speaking.

"I know you are in there. I can hear you breathing and bloody thumping around. I need one second of your time, just one bloody question and then I'll be gone, sound good to you?" Nothing.

For what felt like hours. Frustrated more than ever Enola sat down and rested her back against the door.

Waiting and occasionally knocking. She spent fifteen minutes in that position, fifteen minutes watching the weather change from bleak to dark grey, announcing

upcoming possibly drenching rain.

The prospect of sitting in freezing rain fueled her ambitions considerably, she pulled the slot open and leaned closer.

"Hey! You wanker, I bloody well hope you've got a fucking good reason for refusing to open up and withholding information," Again nothing, that didn't come as a surprise in the slightest. "I could open your door forcefully, I won't hesitate to pick your lock."

It couldn't be that hard to open a run down lock with a hairpin and the more the person behind the door refused to open the more Enola felt affirmed in her suspicions.

She had to know what such a shady person had to do with her prim and proper mother.

Enola pulled a hairpin out of her bag and began bending it into shape then she gently inserted it and began moving it in an up and down motion.

"Oi! What are you doing?" Frenzied Enola turned around, a boy maybe a little older than her stood by the terminally rusty gate. For a moment Enola was caught off guard but she quickly regained her confidence.

"I accidentally locked myself out and now I'm picking the lock." She lied, her voice and face were overly calm and if the dude was as dense as she thought he was he wouldn't notice.

"You don't live here, this is Dax's home," He looked more amused than scandalised which suited Enola just fine. "Nobody lives with Dax, come on what are you really scheming here?"

"As I said I locked myself out, you must be confusing this house with another one," She said with a pointed look to the nearly identical adjoining house to the left. "I wouldn't fault you." She said just loud enough for him to hear she focused back on the lock that wouldn't budge.

The boy didn't move but she hoped that he would leave her be as soon as he realised that she wouldn't give him any further information.

"He won't let you in, he is kooky like that," Not that Enola hadn't realised that Dax wouldn't let her in, she didn't point that out to him though. "You know I could just knock and then you wouldn't have pick around the lock anymore, eh?"

"You think he would open the door just 'cause you knock but he wouldn't do the same for me?" Enola snorted.

"Yeah, he bloody well would," He leaned over her crouching form and knocked, the knocking had no pattern no morse code nothing abnormal about it, a few seconds passed and the door swung open, Enolas hairpin was still stuck in the lock.

"See." The guy said triumphantly and a bit too smug for Enolas taste. Dax turned out to be a tall wiry man in his late twenties with thin hair and very bright somewhat suspicious eyes.

"Come in, come in." He hissed and Enola sprung to her feet hurriedly following them into the hall. Dax closed the door in one swift motion and returned to the room next to the hall, the one Enola had seen him in before.

"What is he doing?" Enola whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

"He's always like this, shouldn't you know that? After all you're his roommate."

"Haha," Enola replied rolling her eyes. "I'm Enola." She held her hand out.

"Raz." He replied.

"Dax, Raz? Bloody ridiculous names, did your Mum give it to you?" It was Raz's turn to snort.

"Should we follow or does he have a specific routine for that too?" Raz shook his head and lead the way into the sitting room apparently.

Stacks over stacks of papers were cramming the room, when Enola took a closer look she discovered that the papers were all different kind of documents, from licenses of ownership to birth certificates everything could be found around his room.

Dax was a forger, her mother had sought out a forger, Enola felt giddy at the prospect of finally finding something.

Dax leaned over a desk, scribbling on a piece of paper, from where she could see it was clear that he was adding something to a calendar.

"Uhm, so..." Enola said, clearing her throat. Dax looked up, seemingly scanning her with his eyes.

"You said you had a question," Raz supplied and Dax nodded barely perceptibly. "Ask." He continued when Enola didn't immediately replied.

"I want to know if," Enola paused collecting her thoughts. "Eudoria Holmes has visited you on the 5th of July?"

"No." Dax replied he left no room for uncertainty in his voice.

Enola faltered visibly. "Or if you know her?" She asked timidly.

"No." He replied, again almost even before she had finished saying her question.

"Dax knows everyone's names and faces, he remembers everyone. It's bonkers." Raz said, which made Enola suddenly feel very sick. Her mother had to have contacts in London or else she wouldn't have been in London on the day of her departure.

And her mother had had a reason to address her address book to her.

Someone had to know something.

And Eudoria Holmes wanted her youngest child to know. Dax was the one person left to know something. But if he knew everyone by name and face he had to remember her mother.

And if not by name then by her _face_.

Frantically Enola began rummaging through her bag for a picture of her mother. Her telephone had a picture saved from her 14th birthday, a rare one were Eudoria smiled.

A sigh of relief escaped her as she opened the file and showed it to Dax.

"This is Eudoria Holmes, my mother." She was incredibly tense as Dax looked it over and then in a moment of total calamity Dax shook his head.

"Ivy Meshle." Dax said pointing to the picture for a moment Enola was confused but then something clicked in her head.

"Its an anagram!" She exclaimed to the bewilderment of Raz and pulled her notebook and a pencil from her bag.

She wrote with her slightly throbbing right hand, Holmes onto it and then interchanged them from _Hol mes _to the reversed _mes hol, Meshol _and then she spelled it phonetically, Meshle was written in black ink upon the paper.

Ivy wasn't hard to guess, her mother's favourite dark green plant adorned Ferndell Halls outer walls. Enola was barely able to restrain herself from releasing a cry of absolute relief and victory.

"Did she get anything from you?" Enola asked unable to keep a slight tremble from her voice. Dax nodded and ducked away searching for something, he came up with five documents, he handed them to her, silently.

All of the papers were copies marked for Ivy Meshle. Passport, birth certificate, drivers license and an id card were all for Ivy Meshle a woman roughly the same age as Eudoria with her birthdate marked as the 5th of July, her own daughters birthday.

"Can...can I keep it?" She asked the tremble in her voice stronger than before. Dax nodded and went back to his work. Stunned by her revelations Enola gripped the papers tightly and left the house.

Somewhat joyous tears sprung to her eyes as she stood outside in the drizzling rain feeling invigorated.

"So now that you got your answers what are you going to do?" Raz asked from behind her, startling her.

"With the information or in general?" Enola asked scowling at him feeling slightly confused as to why he had come after her when clearly Raz was friends with Dax.

"In general." He answered apparently abashed. She hadn't thought about what she was going to do now possibly another evidence supporting the fact that she possessed no ability to plan her immediate future and that she had no foresight whatsoever.

"Uh, nothing."

"Do you want to have some fun?" By the way he rubbed his neck he made his insecurity well known, just then she noticed spray paint spots on his hands and wrists, a painter, which was intriguing. Sherlock wouldn't have been impressed but the whole deduction farce wasn't exactly her thing, she was better at judging people and their intentions.

"What is your definition of fun? Are we going to rob old people?" Raz rubbed his neck once more and laughed.

"You're not from here, are ya? No, well I just thought you might want to hang out." After a few seconds of contemplation she nodded.

"Why not?" Enola agreed stuffing the papers into her bag.

"Cool! To the tube!" He said his grin wide and his eyes sparkling.

* * *

Raz lead her to a location where all the youth of London was apparently crowded, skaters crowded the place and some graffiti artists were spraying the already vandalised walls.

Raz introduced Enola to another tall boy her age who sprayed the walls using a stencil. His motives were black rats watching a dandelion clock blow apart.

"Enola this is Zippy," Enola couldn't help herself, she had to give an indignant snort at the third ridiculous name of the day.

"Zippy this is Enola, can I borrow some of your cans?"

"Help yourself," Zippy said flippantly still curiously eyeing Enola.

"Hi," Enola said offering her hand. "What does Zippy stand for?" She asked 'Zippy' who laughed taking her offered hand.

"Zachary," He replied. "But you can call me Zippy."

Enola raised her eyebrows but didn't say anything else.

"I don't think you can judge him, your name is _Enola _for God's sake." Raz intercepted nudging Enola slightly this quick friendship was a little unsettling but at the same time she felt at ease.

"Where did you pick her up from, Raz? She doesn't look like your usual kind of puppy doesn't she?" Zachary made it sound like Enola was part of predator-prey system, which didn't suit her all too well considering the fact that her endeavors were not romantical and nor were they of a canine nature.

"Picked up her up at Dax's place tried to break in by picking the lock." Zachary laughed surprised and seemingly impressed.

"Well done." Zachary clapped his mates back which made Enola feel more than unwelcome and a bit like a piece of rubbish.

"O-okay, I think I'll just leave." Enola said and turned around.

"Ah, hey don't listen to that piece of crap he's just talking bollocks," Enola really didn't feel like being the butt of a joke she didn't get any longer but she really didn't have anywhere to go and Raz by himself was a nice enough bloke and Zippy pointedly didn't look their but she could see the corners of his mouth turning upwards.

"Come on stay I'll teach you how to tag!" He shook the can in his hand and Enola would be lying if she was to say that that wasn't persuasive.

"Well it can't be that hard to write something with a spray can." She said wiggling her eyebrows but nonetheless dropped her bag.

The two began with Enola spraying her own name on a wall that was so loaded with colourful lettering that her poor first attempt wouldn't be as noticeable. The two fooled around for hours and before Enola knew it her arms were over and over covered in scattered paint spots and what she produced was quite steady.

"You are a fast learner maybe we should try our hands at something bigger." Raz suggested with a twinkle in his eye and Enola nodded along to it.

It was already dark outside and Raz picked out a building that was under construction, the scaffold wasn't very inviting or safe looking but the prospect of climbing it and then spraying the newly whitewashed wall was exciting.

Her early childhood tree climbing adventures proved advantageous, they climbed storey for storey rather quickly.

When they finally stood on top of the scaffold, Enolas phone rang, she didn't even need to look to know that it was Mycroft once again interrupting something rather enjoyable.

She pressed his call away. Raz eyed her but didn't comment, instead he passed her the cans and pulled a stencil from his bag.

"I'll hold it you spray," He instructed pressing it to the wall.

"Is this is rat with a protest sign?" She asked regarding it with a smirk.

"More spraying less asking, we don't have much time." He reminded her jokingly but the look down to the street suggested that he was fearing police forces, Enola shook the can and carefully sprayed the cutout black. She worked concentrated until her phone began ringing anew. She groaned and took a step back.

"I need to pick up." She apologised and picked up. "Hello."

"Get down from that scaffold. Now or so help me," She rolled her eyes and looked to the ground only to find one of Mycrofts cars waiting. She turned back to the unfinished painting and the scowling Raz.

"Enola." Mycroft all but growled.

"I just need to finish something up here." Oh yes, she knew she was in trouble but finishing the piece of art was higher on her list than having a little chat with her eldest brother.

"Now Enola or I will send someone up there." He really wasn't joking Enola realised when one of his lackeys dismounted the car, he crossed his arms over his chest looking grim.

"What is going on?" Raz whispered looking concerned.

"My brother. Let's finish up you don't have to worry." Enola ended the call and sprayed faster than before she coloured the whole thing and then she discarded the can, shouldered her bag and began to climb down leaving a dumbfounded Raz behind.

"Wait, wait!" Raz called after her as she swung down landing on the wet pavement.

"What?" She asked turning around, ignoring the lackeys exaggerated scowl.

"I don't even have your number?" She smiled brightly up to him, she knew that he had a somewhat different idea about their future relationship on the other hand she valued him as a person and as future friend.

"Add me on facebook, yeah?" She could see his street lamp illuminated shadow nodding, pleased she waved goodbye and slid into the car.

Mycroft was already waiting looking ominous, she knew when to keep her mouth shut and this was certainly one of these days. She realised that displeased might've been an understatement as she observed her brothers face.

It was very near rage, which Enola didn't see very often, well just about never.

"We need to have a chat," Enola took a deep breath but didn't answer, the siblings sat next to each other, Enola had her gaze averted but she could feel Mycroft looking at her.

"What has gotten into you lately for God's sake?" A sinking feeling crept onto her the fact that he probably knew every single thing that had happened opened up two options, either something terrible had happened and he didn't have someone to spare and collect her which was highly unlikely or he had watched her and observed her every move trying to figure out what her plan was.

"Enola Holmes! Are you listening to me?" The no on the tip of her tongue was threatening to spill instead she shook her head yes. He clicked his tongue, signalising her that he had realised that she wasn't listening at all.

"Enola I am responsible for you, I expect you to follow the rules and _laws_," Enola cringed slightly guiltily noticing the black spots on her fingers. "You have to mind what I tell you. No more of theses atrocious escapades, do you understand that?"

"Well yeah, I'm not an _imbecile_." She said with the slightest hint of bitterness Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"I worry about you," He said his voice gentler than before. She knew he did there was no need for an reminder, she just couldn't appreciate it, he was looming over all of his siblings, constantly.

"I can see why you feel the need..."

"Don't you dare." She growled interrupting him, the siblings glared at each other with such ferocity that outsider might have felt like the siblings hated each other.

"Do I need to remind you of your condition?" He asked interrupting the angry silence, his tone was sharp.

He certainly did not, her hand was still throbbing, instinctively she touched her wrist. She hadn't been bothered by it for awhile but just then the slight pain came back like a small bolt of lighting.

It was an unconscious movement but Mycroft caught up on it reached out and took her arm, pushed the sleeve up to find her slightly swollen wrist.

He shook his head and let go.

"It's just an _contusion_, nothing to worry about." She said looking at him directly.

Anger was starting to boil inside of her she realised it was irrational on some levels but he did not have to make her feel the way he did, especially considering the fact that he had yet to come clean about the guardianship contract.

Mycroft stayed silent apparently deciding against his little sisters inevitable outburst. The two didn't have anything left to say to each other and so they both kept their mouths shut and their opinions to themselves.

Enola was surprised when the car stopped at Mycroft's flat, even more so when she was ushered up the stairs guided by the lackey. Mycroft stayed in the car.

That night, while the rain continued to bombard the windowsill, Enola lay half awake in the guest bed, rereading the documents her mother had bought from Dax.

Thinking of Ivy and that it's victorian meaning was endurance and if that was another clue or really just one of her mother's favourite plants.

Sleep didn't come easily that night.

* * *

Thank you so sooooooo much for reading, don't forget to review!


	6. Cinquefoil

This is unedited as of now but I tried to find everything and when my beta gets back to me I will fix everything, if you find anything do tell me! Thanks for reading and reviewing it does mean a lot to me so please do more of that! (also special thanks for those of you who have so far reviewed every single chapter with a lot of enthusiasm, you make this writing experience worthwhile!)

Chapter 6

CINQUEFOIL

The two girls sat at the back of the small school bus filled to the brim with students among an ocean of red viscoses uniforms, everyone except these two were chattering, the cacophony of female voices was overwhelming.

They were engulfed by the dusty woolen fabric that had become soft from all the trips the bus had had endured over the last ten years, Cecily leaned on Enola's shoulder drowsily playing with a strand of Enola's brunette hair.

Enola sat straight, her legs were crossed and her face was tranquil, to an outsider she might've looked dazed but as a matter of fact she was buried deep in thought, information circling in her head.

Enola was barely aware of Cecily's fingers twisting her hair and diffusing the brunette curls then and again.

"I really don't want to go," Cecily moaned, her voice barely above a whisper nonetheless it ripped Enola from her thoughts, alerting her to her surroundings and destination; the joined debate club of St. Georges and Eton. "To be honest I would've much rather picked up the rubbish from the lawns for the next month instead of going to such pretentious clubs full of bullshitting people." Cecily voiced her disdain her volume rising.

Enola blinked several times debating whether to tell Cecily that they had Mycroft to thank for that as he had suggested to occupy her more instead of punishing her. And regarding Mycroft you never knew what 'suggesting' meant.

After all the school could've hardly punished Cecily in any other way than that without making themselves look like they were easily gouged by a mere government official with money.

If the school could've had it their way both Cecily and Enola would be outside in the rain picking biscuit cartons from the vast school grounds while experiencing the proper amount of remorse. Enola couldn't quite help herself but she had to agree with Cecily this time, debating about global warming and human rights were not the option she would've went for.

This 'punishment' was exactly catering to Mycroft's need for control, he now knew where she was everyday of the week including the afternoon and on the weekends he was with her, no need to monitor that. That was his form of restriction that had Enola sulking and Mycroft gloating. Enola nodded in agreement and leaned further into the bus seat.

"Next time we shouldn't return," Cecily said looking wistfully to the cars passing by driving in the opposite direction approaching London. Enola snorted, between Mycroft's absurdly long electronical arms and Sherlock's ability to find her anywhere it was a sheer impossibility to disappear.

"I'm not joking around, Enola." Cecily said lightly pulling a curl.

"If it were easy I'd be on board." Enola reassured her playfully swatting Cecily's hand away.

"But it is easy!" She exclaimed. "We just need to get out of here and then we'll get jobs and share a flat, you know we are good at sharing small rooms," Cecily made it all seem so easy that Enola began to honestly think about it.

The initial moment of loyalty and the need to please and make as little trouble as possible had already passed and the need to figure out where her mother was and doing her own thing was now the only dominant notion in her.

And she still had the money from her mother that Mycroft didn't know about. And yet she shook her head no because maybe, just maybe, it was that easy but now was not the time to waver and run.

"Aww, come on. Please."

"Think of what your parents would say." Enola said grinning mischievously when Cecily faltered.

"I can't believe that you're such a wet blanket!" Enola shrugged nonplussed.

"Let's focus on global warming, yes?" That earned her a playful smack to the shoulder.

Cecily and Enola sat at the back of the classroom doodling away on the wooden table with borrowed lead pencils from their seat neighbours who it seemed were equally as bored. The club was self run by the students and there were no adults to reprimand them for not paying attention or vandalising the schools property.

"...we should go to the club on the weekend, Ethan said they're pretty lax with the ID's and I know with ours we could get in." The seat neighbours voice carried over to the two and Cecily excitedly nudged her, jerking her head in the direction of the other two.

"You have a fake ID?" Cecily whispered leaning their way alerting them to their unwanted audience, their faces fell and panic crossed their features, the brunette sitting behind the one who had spoken began rubbing his neck awkwardly obviously trying to compose his expression to one of innocence.

Enola smiled at him which only seemed to upset him more. His friend was another story entirely he smiled in a way that suggested that he was hoping to impress, he practically burst with vain confidence.

"Yes, are you interested? I could always-"

His shy friend silenced him by interrupting him. "I don't know what you heard but he was just joking. I'm Jonathan and this boasting idiot is Winston." He extended his hand and both Cecily and Enola shook it.

"I'm Enola and this is Cecily." Enola introduced the two barely keeping the disgust of her face when Winston looked her up and down clearly taking no regards to personal space or decency.

"Now that we have unsuccessfully pretended that nothing has happened and that nobody talked of anything, I would like to see your IDs." Cecily said eyeing Winston expectantly, he scrambled to pull his wallet from his pockets revealing a very poorly made excuse for an ID.

It was neither the right shade of pink nor was it properly laminated, it was uneven and it seemed likely that a toddler had cut it with a children's scissor. Enola let go of an amused snort and shook her head.

"No wonder you're worried about getting in, this is so poorly made-"

"As if you could do it any better." Winston said pulling his card from her sight, clearly offended; he probably had made it himself. Enola raised her eyebrows, the spark of pride and the need to rise up to a challenge ignited, that was the one thing she recognised as a Holmes trait manifested within her, it was all challenge me and I will not only impress you but also reduce you to a writhing mess with no self esteem left. It seemed to be the family motto.

"Of course I can." She said feeling smug when Winston turned red.

"As if." He replied settling back into his seat and leaning backwards looking smug.

"If you can do it by all means don't hesitate." Cecily said looking at Enola who nodded her consent.

"Prove it. Friday at the warehouse, make one for each of us. I'll be waiting." Winston leaned forward, all but trying to intimidate her by leaning even further into the girls space, Enola scowled but nodded anyway.

"I will need a passport photo from each of you." It was Winston's turn to snort haughtily, Enola looked at him indignantly.

"What? Am I supposed to take a photo from facebook like you clearly did?" _You imbecile_ is hanging in the air and although she doesn't say it out loud Winston seems insulted, which is very satisfying.

Jonathan snorts looking delighted as he was probably just as unhappy with his ID as any person who ran the the risk for getting convicted for a piece of crap that is illegal regardless the quality or the effectiveness of getting into clubs _or _buying alcohol.

"Where is the warehouse?" Cecily asked pulling a piece of paper from her bag ready to note it down. Jonathan told her and the conversation died down for the moment.

Enola continued the profile portrait of Cecily she had begun sketching on the table.

She felt satisfied with the prospect of finally having something to do besides slipping down the depressive spiral any further.

"You know, this is a whole new abyss of mystery. What else can you do? Do you sells organs from unsuspecting victims that you first overwhelm and then leave them half sedated in a bathtub full of ice?," The blonde hovered over Enolas shoulder watching her roommates' crafty fingers complete an alias for her.

"You are becoming more and more intriguing and _sexy._ You should consider becoming a criminal mastermind. _Or _better yet the next godfather, no wait god_mother_, you know _when _your brother leaves his position," Cecily was apparently very serious, the blonde provoked such vivid imagery that Enola couldn't help herself, she laughed amused by the image of Mycroft sitting in a spinning chair petting a cat looking even more smug than usual and being just his bloody self. The git.

"Don't laugh! I mean it" Cecily insisted grinning brightly.

"No it's just that my brother is very precisely on the right side of the law and therefore sadly I won't ever become _the _godmother." Enola sounded admittedly a bit wistful, not looking up as she worked on the final touches of the pictures position with a tweezer, she added: "Or a criminal mastermind."

Oh well, bloody hell she did kinda liked the taste of it on her tongue, outlandish (and admittedly typical) as it was, the thought of becoming something so opposite her living relatives and so alike her father's values was strangely exciting. Mind you, he had been corrupt not an outright criminal.

"Ha well, work your way up - no better yet- _sleep _your way up!" Not looking up from her garishly lit work she addressed Cecily with just enough mirth and ridicule in her voice to be considered humorous and warm. "Good idea, whom should I shag first, Vito Corleone?" Cecily snorted and went to sit on the bed, she breathed heavily and watched her roommate's thin fingers work intently, Enola hadn't stopped working since class had been over and Cecily thought that while her work didn't seize to amaze her spending her time looking over Enola's shoulder for three hours was more than a bit monotonous.

Her gaze lingered on the shared pile of clothing that decorated the floor and the various books and papers strewn about. For two people that never did their homework it decidedly looked like a intense study session had went down. She checked the clock above the door only to confirm that they had little time left before they would have to mount the bus.

"Are you-"

"Done!" Enola turned in her chair and cracked her neck to relieve the tension, she threw the piece of plastic towards where Cecily was sitting and stood.

A faint smile crossed her face, she was glad so very glad that her favourite pastime sent sparks, that lately only ever came when she bent the rules, through her body dissolving in her fingertips. She was thrilled to have rediscovered that part that her mother had somehow taken with her.

And if that meant dabbling a bit outside the law then so be it.

"How much quid do you want for that?" Cecily asked, reaching for her purse, Enola's green eyes narrow and she shook her head declining the money, the thought of charging Cecily hadn't even crossed her mind.

"Enola, you could make heaps of money with this, let me pay you, if you go to prison it should at least be worth it." Cecily kept on rummaging through her purse for money.

"Don't be daft, it's free for you but that has nothing to say on what we are going to let the guys pay." Enola said taking her coat from her bed and shrugged it on.

"These vile tossers should pay at least sixty quid, I'll make sure of that," Cecily said, pocketing her new possession smiling proudly and then added: "Now come on, let us literally be partners in crime." Enola grinned and follows her friend through the door.

The warehouse appeared to be nothing special, it was a grey square building and the sign declaring it property of a freight forwarding company was the only source of illumination. The smell of musty tea lingers in the cold night air. The somewhat forlorn location in itself was deserted and radiated either dark alley murderers or lice ridden homeless people.

Enola bristled.

Thoughts of horror movies and young girls getting attacked crept into her mind, she tried shaking the thoughts by taking the lead.

Cecily followed but she too, seemed to be very reluctant to go in. As they approached they could hear laughter and Enola could identify two voices only; Winston and Jonathan.

Feeling reinvigorated she strode forward and pulled the thick metal door open, bright lights momentarily blinded her, the laughter died down and her vision cleared, revealing stacked boxes -judging by the smell filled with tea- and a small round table in the middle of it all.

Four boys, Enolas age sat there, playing some sort of card game, poker judging by the coins, eight pairs of eyes were pointed at her, she flashed them an awkward smile.

Cecily sidestepped her and waved eagerly.

"Hello, we're the delivery guys. I hope you have your money ready. Also we won't object gratuities in fact we highly encourage them." Cecily said and shook her purse, Enola snorted.

The two boys Enola had yet to be introduced too, raised their eyebrows and Jonathan leaned over to Winston and stage whispered: "You owe me twenty quid."

He held out his hand and Winston scowled clearly unhappy with the outcome of the situation. Satisfaction flooded Enola and it showed on her face. The tall blonde that sat on the right stood and gestured for the girls to come and sit.

"Cameron Shaw." He held his hand out for her to take and Enola shakes it, he has a firm handshake, his strength conveyed by his shoulder, she realises that he subconsciously asserted his dominance by squeezing her hand a little more than necessary.

With his broad shoulders and his presence that filled his immediate space a little more than necessary reminded Enola of church leaders and those people who spark a revolution by waving their fists aggressively, he was unsettling at best and at its worst no one she would associate with.

Cecily it seemed though was enamored, she had taken the seat on the other side of Cameron and had unconsciously moved a little closer than necessary.

Cameron's friend, who had yet to introduce himself was apparently not very interested in doing so anytime soon, he stared down onto to the table with such pointed apathy that Enola couldn't help but stare at him. He was unlike Cameron, on the leaner side, had dirty blonde hair and from what she could see slightly darker eyes but the resemblance was uncanny.

"That's Alexander, my cousin." Cameron said when he caught her gaze, Alexander raised his head and acknowledges her by looking her in the eyes for a short moment, he smiled but it didn't reach his eyes and lowered his head again he began playing with his phone.

"Anyway, let's see what you got." Jonathan said eagerly, Cecily raised her purse and pulled the paper wrapped identity cards out of it. Winston made a grab for it but Cecily quickly pulled them from him.

"Uh-oh, no touching until you show me your money." Cecily had apparently not been joking about the money, Winston and Jonathan looked at each other and shrugged. Jonathan pulled his wallet from his jeans back pocket and gave it to Cecily who looked through it and then nodded.

Winston's jar was set tight as he pointed to the stack of pounds on his side that were his profits from the game. Enola could appreciate a good poker player regardless of her position to his character and Winston seemed to have had either a good hand or a good poker face.

"Well then," Enolas friend tossed the IDs onto the cards in the middle of the table and crossed her arms expectantly. "There you go." Enola watched the two take her work, carefully inspecting it, they held the plastic pieces to the light and felt along the sides for irregularities.

"This is impressive work." Jonathan said beaming at Enola who in turn smiled hesitantly back, he held it for Alexander to take who glanced at it and nodded his consent and then directed his gaze at her, searching her for a moment. It was a look that Enola couldn't construe.

"Well it is good-" Winston began but was interrupted by Cecily who fixated him with one of her glares.

"But?"

"I'm not talking to you, I'm talking to your friend. As I was starting to say - this work is a bit too impressive for some meek boarding school girl to make. Who did you pay to do it for you?" Enola gave him an indignant laugh in response and raised her eyebrows.

"Just because you have the talent of a goat with a scissor doesn't mean I can't do it better, I've been perfecting my ID's since I was thirteen it's all about experience not boosting my ego." Winstons face took on a lovely shade of puce. Both Cameron and Cecily laughed in agreement.

"Come off it Winston, she won you didn't, deal with it." Jonathan said when Winston opened his mouth to reply, he closed his mouth reluctantly and Enola could see his teeth grinding down on each other from her spot opposite him.

"Fine," He spat through his teeth and crossed his arms. "If you like her work so much you can from now on pay her to do them for you."

To his surprise Cameron nodded and turned to Enola who was equally as surprised. "I have been thinking of this for a while now and I think with a decent forger we could make a lot of money, expand the business if you know what I mean."

"We?" Cecily questioned and Cameron nodded.

"We bring the patronage and Enola supplies the IDs, of course you'd get the lion's share. A little extra money on the side never hurt anyone." Somehow Enola began suspecting that they had planned this beforehand, at least Cameron and Alexander had, she was a little stumped by this, they both did not seem to be in need for money, not at all actually they both wore fancy brands and from where she sat she could see Alexanders no doubt real silver watch.

"What do you need money for?" She asked hoping for any kind of sign that would give away any clue, while Sherlock had taught her how to deduce a little she had never felt the need to apply herself to the subject, her verdict had been that it was rude and at times bothersome. He had sulked for a while and now that the time for his talent had come she regretted it.

She could feel that they were trouble and not just because they were intent to break the law but because there was something about them that practically screamed danger and destruction.

Feeling it was not enough though, a voice that sounded decidedly like Sherlock whispered in the back of her mind.

"We've been having a few problems with our fathers for a while now and we think investing a bit on the side might be wise." Aha, troubles with the father, not uncommon on the contrary quite predictable, honestly. Cameron's gaze had not once shifted to his right and Enola was sure that was a good sign if any and the only sign she could interpret with her limited abilities.

"Well okay." She reserved a bit of her tentativeness for later, thinking that maybe it was not a good idea but feeling that the distraction that came with it was worth it.

"Are you sure?" Cecily whispered leaning closer to her, she seemed uncertain too, not a good sign Enola noted but nodded regardless. It was a bit like trying to get the next fix of excitement. She was admittedly a bit more like Sherlock than she cared to admit too.

"Great, very well," Cameron's features were twisted into a smile that seemed fake and like he hadn't been smiling much lately, he was blatantly trying to persuade her by being charming, a shiver ran down her spine.

"We will try to get you commissions soon," He flashed her another smile that left her feeling uneasy and then proceeded to hand Cecily and her shot glasses and a bottle of sambuca. Enola grimaced but let Cecily pour her some.

"Cheers!" He then clinked their glasses and they all downed it. The liquid spread warmth in her chest and tasted like toothpaste and a heavy dash of liquorice, it was both better and worse than she had expected and she could barely hide her stertorous breathing but lucky no one else seemed to particularly enjoy it either, both Winston and Jonathan made faces.

Alexander was the only one to hide his disgust partially well. To cover the uneasy feeling in her gut she reached for the bottle and downed another glass, over the course of the next half an hour a quarter and half of the bottle vanished between Cecily and her.

Tipsy was the word to describe it when her phone vibrated alerting her to a call and annoyed when she discovered it was a call from Mycroft, no one from her goddamn family ever called, in fact no one ever called her except for him.

Scowling she pressed it away, she had texted him earlier and had told him where she was going with whom she was going to be everything except for what she was going to do. A stretch of the truth would be all he was receiving from her if he'd ask. The call also alerted her to the fact that he was going to send someone to go and get her, it wasn't even that she was particularly inclined to stay with the people she had just met but more so the mere fact that Mycroft was being an overbearing twat _again_.

"Who was it?" Cecily asked having watched her scowling at her phone.

"My brother." She answered her tone bitter.

"Why didn't you pick up?" Cecily asked eyebrows quirked, she had yet to notice that Enola wasn't very happy about conversing with her family or - you know- happy with her family in general and so the question was valid and just mere curiosity.

"He'll order me home and be prissy about it." Just then her phone began to vibrate again.

"Family," Alexander said nodding, raising his head from his own phone, shaking it. "Can't help but hate them. My father wants me to come home too, we can share a taxi if you want to?"

For the first time this evening he seemed vaguely likeable and approachable so Enola found herself nodding.

After they said their goodbyes and had left the four others behind. They found themselves outside, it was dark and it had begun to lightly drizzle.

As they weren't close to a main road they had to walk a few yards. With every step Enola took the rain began to come down heavier and heavier.

Fat drops of water hit the pavement and since neither of the two had brought an umbrella they opted for turning their coat collars up.

"Bloody hell, I really should've remembered to bring an umbrella." Alexander swore, his hair was already soaked and clung to his forehead, Enola didn't look all that different and she could feel the rain dripping down the back of her neck.

"Let's just find a spot where we can seek shelter for a moment, yes?" Alexander nodded and followed her to an awning of an abandoned shop, for a while they stood in silence waiting for the downpour to end.

Enola shifted from feet to feet trying to prevent the cold wet from soaking through to her skin. Alexander produced a pack of cigarettes and silently offered one to her, she was inclined to shake her head no but then thought better of it.

There was no use in declining, her health was at stake as it was considering the freezing temperature and cold rain. She took it from him and let him light it. She inhaled deeply and was surprised to find that she had no problem with the musty smoke collecting in her lungs, with the next breath the smoke escaped through her nose and circled above her.

"Have you really been making IDs since you were thirteen? I mean that is a bit weird." Startled Enola choked and began coughing.

"What do you mean, 'weird'?" She asked in between coughs, Alexander moved and began clapping her on her back trying to ease the smoke out. "I mean it's a weird hobby, don't girls that age play with barbies?"

In between shaky breaths and tears in her eyes she began to compose herself enough to answer.

"Yeah well my family isn't exactly normal and my mother never liked barbies, I had look for entertainment elsewhere and since being thirteen doesn't exactly entitle you to do anything I came up with that as a favourite pastime."

"Lonely rich kid then?" It wasn't an insult but Enola couldn't help but feel slightly resentful, she had transformed into that exact stereotype within two months. Bank account filled to the brim with money a literally absent mother and aloof brothers.

Lonely rich girl it was.

She nodded. "What about you?"

She was eager to change the topic or else she would have to start to think of her mother and how she could so easily disappear, so that her youngest and only daughter ended up feeling devoid of trust and filled with hot white anger. Alexander clicked his tongue and grinned, the first real grin this evening.

"Not much different just that I didn't start producing plastic gold at thirteen I involved myself with other _stuff_." A quick look at his face told her all she needed.

"Drugs then?" He shook his head yes, anyone who was eager to make money wouldn't circumvent drugs, no surprise there. A black car pulled up before the shop just then, unmarked and despite the rain pristine looking.

"Mycroft." She growled, Alexander looked positively confused.

"What?"

"My brother." The driver's door opened and the driver, a man Enola recognised as an MI5 man came to open the other door and put up an umbrella.

"Miss Holmes." He tipped his head in acknowledgment of her presence and then waited. Enola flicked the half smoked cigarette away and turned to Alexander.

"Where do you live?"

"Ennismore Gardens." He said and discarded his cigarette too.

"We'll take you home."

Silence greeted her when she entered the house, it was dark inside but she didn't bother to turn the lights on, she knows her way around from her last visits and turning the lights on might draw more unwilling attention to herself than strictly necessary.

Apart from the her own mix of wet clothing, the slight smell of alcohol and the cigarette smoke fumes that seemed to have invaded her every pore, it smelled like new furniture an account of Mycroft moving in and out of apartments as precaution.

She hung her coat on the dark wooden coat stand to dry. Her damp hair stuck to her forehead and it too was coated by the smell of smoke.

Enola knows that she won't be able to shed the smell before speaking with her older brother not that it matters, Mycroft would know either way and he wasn't in any position to preach, all Holmes brothers were known for their nicotine indulgens.

And concerning one particular brother sometimes even worse things than tar on a stick. She pulled her shoes off and then tried to stealthily bypass the sitting room.

No such luck though, Mycroft sat with his legs crossed in his armchair leafing through The Times, behind him the fireplace crackled and the warm light painted the room orange. He looked up when he heard his sister's footsteps in the hallway.

The two looked at each other for a moment before he quirked his eyebrow and she took her cue to come and sit. The silence stretched on and Mycroft resumed his reading and Enola began running her hands through her hair in an effort to dry it.

She stared at the fire trying to ease her mind off the alcohol that was still in her system that could potentially cloud her reactions. She still was only slightly tipsy, the cold weather mixed with the freezing rain had done it's own kind of wonder.

Enola resumed her familiar position on the couch and drew her knees up to her chest, no matter how vulnerable it looked to an outsider to her it felt incredibly safe.

Mycroft shifted in his seat and Enola directed her gaze to him, he tossed the paper aside and reached over his armchair retrieving a manila folder. He opened it and then spoke for the first time.

"Alexander Nicholas Finch born on the 1st of May in 1991 in London. Charged in 2008 for possession and the intent to supply drugs. Sentenced with a fine." Mycroft clamped the file shut and glowered at his sister as if it was her fault that Alexander had a criminal history.

Enola held his gaze, intent on not breaking eye contact and somehow admitting defeat. She then opened her mouth to respond: "He also has problems with his Dad and can hold his liquor really well, he has one cousin and likes to play Tetris," Mycroft's lips almost disappeared, displeasure was etched all over his face. "What? I thought we were reciting what we know about him."

She smiled for a millisecond, if anything it was more the baring of her teeth for a moment, she subconsciously mirrored his own fake smiles.

"Is this a farce to you?" He asked through his clenched teeth. Enola shrugged as nonchalantly as she could work herself up to be considering that she really didn't felt as confident as she acted. "Do you _understand _what my paramount concern is?"

_Everything _was a paramount concern with Enola lately nothing was ever just a _normal _occurrence. Again she shrugged her shoulders.

"The influence these untrustworthy hoodlums might exert is simply not acceptable." He said and Enola felt sick, could he possibly know about what they were planning to do? He had the means, he had the whole government's arsenal of surveillance at his beck and call it would be no surprise but the way he said it suggested otherwise.

He was simply assuming something from reading the file. Something inside Enola burst, it felt a bit like a knuckle cracking and she sat upright.

"I will not listen to you trying to imperiously asphyxiate me with your _boring_ presumptions. As a matter of fact I can take care of myself and choose my own friends, there is no need for you to interfere with your misplaced worry." He remained seated, but his face shifted even more towards real unapologetic anger.

"You _will _listen to me Enola Holmes. I am your guardian, you are my responsibility now and I will not have this discussion with you if you cannot behave like an adult. Your recalcitrant behaviour will end now."

"Yes let's talk about that, you know, you becoming my guardian. In the adult world that is called signing your child off to another regulated by a contract, isn't that the equilibrium of supply and demand, dear brother?" He winced visibly, he had apparently not considered that she knew about his bargain with their mother.

She spoke before he could ask. "Sherlock showed me."

If he had been a lesser man he would've groaned but he was Mycroft and so his facial features slipped for a split second and then went back to normal.

"Please do not assume anything, it was a necessity-"

"For someone so intelligent you sure say some very daft things. I _assume_ that you obediently signed something without thinking of the consequences, desperate for parental approval," Tears began falling down her face and Mycroft shifted in his seat uncomfortable with his younger sisters tears.

"Do you _understand_ in what kind of situation you put me in? I mean -how could you? _How_?"

The oldest Holmes that normally was able to adapt to any situation and always had something to say to everything was quiet. As if he had just now began to realise that by signing the contract he had had influenced his mother's decision to go abundantly.

"Enola..." He trailed off, Enola rose from the sofa. She had made her decision.

"Un- Until you are able to have this conversation with me, I don't want to see you." She ran her fingers through her hair one last time and then turned on her heel.

Not waiting to see a reaction.

She pulled her coat from the stand on the way out and pulled her phone from her pocket.

It was still incredibly cold outside and when she scrolled through her contacts her fingers began to feel numb very quickly.

Finding a place to sleep for the night was more complicated than she had expected, everyone she knew in London was either an acquaintance, occupied or a Holmes brother.

Sherlock was not an option, she felt raw from the crying that had yet to subside and couldn't possibly deal with snarky offhand comments and rude deductions all night. Sherrinford it was. She composed a quick message and clicked send.

He took all but five seconds to reply.

'Expect you in fifteen- SH'

With a sigh of relief she walked down the street trying to find a taxi to hail, glad that the rain made it harder to tell that she was crying.


End file.
